My Life Would Suck Without You
by The Labyrinths Scribe
Summary: Her treatment of Mike had been deplorable, even by her admittedly-self-righteous standards.


**A/n: So, just part one of a ten-piece music shuffle. Same old, same old. Pairings are all mixed…it kind of depends on what the song is and how I feel about it but probably no Slash, just gen. I don't mind slash but I felt that the Suits category could use a little more gen, since the supply seems to be a ton of slash (not that I can blame you!)**

**Part 1 is a pretty upbeat song for what I have in mind, but eh, just go with it. If you listen to the lyrics I'm pretty sure you'll figure out 'who' is speaking in terms of the song. The second half of the fic kind of diverged from the song itself, but I decided I wanted to have the two POV's be Rachel and Harvey on Mike, since I'd say we kind of know how Mike felt about the whole thing.**

**Part 1: My Life Would Suck Without You – Glee**

**Rachel/Mike**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>**All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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><p>If anyone had told Rachel Zane that she would be standing outside Mike Ross's crappy apartment with a Thai takeout box in the pouring rain, she would have laughed at them and then reminded them that Pearson and Hardman drug tests monthly. But, no one had to tell her, because she <em>was<em> standing outside his apartment in the pouring rain. After the mock trial, Rachael couldn't help but feel guilty. It had niggled inside her, worming its way into her subconscious until she could no longer ignore it.

Her treatment of Mike had been deplorable, even by her admittedly-self-righteous standards. So, now she was standing outside of his crappy little apartment in a bad neighborhood with a box of Thai debating on whether or not to actually go in. With a heavy sigh, she entered the apartment complex, now soaked to the bone, and determinedly made her way to his door. She could do this. Rachel Zane was many things, but a coward wasn't one of them. Her fingers gently curled into a fist and with a slight tingle crawl up her spine, she rapped on his door.

For all of thirty seconds, Rachel wondered if he was even home, or if he would answer the door once he looked out the peephole and saw who it was. At that last prospect, she couldn't help but internally cringe. Surely, Mike wouldn't do that... Mike was a lot of things, but rude and cruel weren't two of them. Of course, it would be nothing less than she deserved. The first day they had met, she had assumed that he was going to be another prick associate who was just going to hit on her and use their massive ego to obliviously make her hate them. She had been wrong, even as reluctant as she was to admit it.

He proved himself to her, time and again, with his intelligence and his kind, inherently gentle nature. He had grown so high in her esteem, that she forgot something very, very important: He was human, too. It was the reason why she had reacted so violently when she discovered that he had made a living cheating for people on the LSAT's. She could have lived with it being anyone else, even her own goddamn boss, but not him. With his persistence and heart, he had become this…modern day white-knight in her mind, too good for the profession he had chosen, a fairytale. Her image had been shattered, marred by reality – he wasn't perfect.

Then, there was the mock trial. He struggled a little, and Rachel felt sorry for him – despite his failings, he was still just as kind. And then, she saw a side to him she had never seen before, a side that explained why Harvey Spector doted (well, as much as Harvey ever dotes on anyone) on him more than the other associates. This sweet kid with the bad dress sense, poor taste in food, and naïve view on the world _was_ Harvey Spector reborn. She had been on the stand, feeling confident in her role and in the case itself. And then, right before her eyes, he ceased to be Mike Ross, Associate, friend, hopeless puppy, and became Mini-Harvey, confident, smooth, and manipulative. And she fell for it.

His words reached her as a person, so much so that she lost her cool and almost lost the case for Kyle. But then, she saw it – a glimmer, a spark, a shine, of Mike. She was to the point of tears, past the point of no return – she could see Kyle sinking further in his seat, could see Louis Litt in the back row with an interested, if resigned, look on a his face, could see Jessica lean forward eagerly. Jackals, all of them. Mike was putting on the show of a life time, and then he closed the curtains just as quickly. He backed off to spare her, though Rachel knew he would never live it down. He had professed interest in her at one point, but she thought it was fleeting – she was his work wife, nothing more. But this proved it. He had just taken a blow to his career to spare her a few tears in a _fake_ court case.

It affected her, more than she was willing to admit. She didn't like Kyle – he was a prick, and not the good kind – but had worked with him to spite Mike, to punish him for letting her down. Boy had that one backfired. She came back from that feeling more guilty than she ever had before, and insanely, horribly charmed and attracted by him. Somewhere, in the back of her _really_ screwed up subconscious, was a part of her that was maddeningly charmed by the fact that Sweet Mike had an incredibly devilish alter ego. Which brought her to where she was right now, standing in his hall for five minutes dripping water onto the carpet while she pathetically hoped that he would open the door.

She had seen the looks that passed between him and the little tart that played his witness, but those were _nothing_ compared to the looks she and Mike had shared – at least, that's what she told herself. Because, in the end, when Jenny was urging Mike on from the sidelines, it was _Rachel_ that Mike cared about. Rachel just hoped that it was enough to make the blonde think twice. An unhappy thought struck her – what if Jenny was _in there_, right now? Rachel felt herself go red in the face and promptly, turned on her heel to walk away. Her pride had already suffered a blow by internally admitting she was wrong, and had been taken down another notch further when she had prepared herself to admit to Mike as well – but her pride would not suffer this.

It wasn't until she was at the Complex doors that she heard her name being called. She tried to calm her racing heart and straighten her clothes a little before turning around. Mike was standing there in a _very_ wrinkled suit, his eyes bloodshot and carrying bags that would get him charged extra at the airport. He looked terrible.

"Hey," She began, giving him a moment to compose himself. She had clearly just interrupted his few moments of uninterrupted sleep, and felt he could use a little extra time.

"Hi," He gave a boyish, albeit tired, grin. "Sorry I didn't answer sooner, I wasn't really expecting anyone and, honestly, kind of thought it was my imagination."

"Don't worry about it," Rachel smiled, momentarily forgetting about the ten minutes she had stood in the pouring rain debating on whether or not to go in, and the additional ten minutes she had spent outside his door. "I heard you were having some trouble on the McAndrews case; I brought Thai."

She saw his nose begin to wrinkle, and stop before it had time to really flourish. He was trying not to offend her, though she knew that he preferred things he knew well – cheeseburgers, hotdogs, all-American classics.

"Trust me, you'll like it."

He shrugged his shoulders, as if to say 'sure, if you say so,' before gesturing towards his apartment. "Sounds good," She could hear the hint of uncertainty in his voice, and resisted the urge to smile. They walked back to his apartment, which he had left wide open, and entered it one after the other, an awkward air permeating the room.

His apartment was a mess, Rachel noted with both affection and distaste; Suits were strewn over the couch and the table, glasses were piling up in the sink, and there was more than one pizza box stacked on the table. Still, it was very…Mike. There were books _everywhere_, and all of them looked well-loved. There were pictures of he and his grandmother, and one photograph of a beautiful young couple on a beach hanging on the wall opposite the tv. The woman had light blonde hair and familiar blue eyes, contrasting to the man's darker, sandy colored hair and brown eyes; Mike's parents.

She set the Thai superbox on the coffee table, which was the only cleared off space in the apartment – probably due to the fact that this was where Mike looked over the case files, judging by the stack sitting next to him. She didn't say a word about the décor, or the general untidiness, but served him a plate when he brought them and made casual conversation about the case.

"Rachel," He interrupted her, a note of discomfort edging into his tone. "Why are you here?"

Mike had never been blunt before, at least not to her, but Rachel kind of like it none the less. "I'm here," She said slowly, thinking about how to word this. "Because I judged you and had no right to, and then acted poorly afterward."

"I'm sorry, about the trial," He began to apologize but stopped abruptly when she flicked his forehead.

"Stop it. You're trying to steal the limelight of my apology."

He chuckled before resolutely shoving a forkful of Thai curry in his mouth. Rachel opened her mouth to warn him but it was too late – his face was already turning red. He stood quickly, tripping over shoes and whatever else was lying on the floor in his path to the kitchen, to get some water. Rachel couldn't hold back a giggle, even has he glared at her. "Hey," She said. "That's what you get for eating like a pig,"

"Rachel, I don't think it would have mattered if I had a _teaspoon_ of that stuff in my mouth – my tongue would still be on fire!"

She shook her had and pulled the McAndrews case file onto her lap, looking over it again. Out of the corner of her eye, she observed Mike. Whatever awkward air there had been earlier was gone, replaced by the comfortable familiarity of not-talking about whatever they had between them. She was glad that things had returned to the way they were before, that the status quo had been met. During the time when they weren't speaking to each other, or rather, when she wasn't speaking to him, her life had gotten rather gray.

Kyle still hit on her at every opportunity, except Mike wasn't there for her to use as a shield. She still had a ton of paperwork to do, except Mike wasn't hanging around with food and questions of his own to make it a little less droll. She still thought she was smarter than the vast majority of the people working at Pearson and Harmon, except Mike wasn't there for her to vent to. She still loved watching Louis Litt be outwitted by Harvey and Donna, except Mike wasn't there to laugh with her about it. Except Mike. Except Mike. Except Mike. In reality, her life kind of sucked without him.

But that didn't matter anymore, because everything was ok. Even as she watched him rub the back of his neck, and had to stop herself from getting up and giving him a proper massage – he was missing all the pressure points, she told herself. Even as she watched him run his hands through his hair, and imagined what those hands would feel like running through _her_ hair. Even as she unconsciously moved closer to him as they looked over all the files for the McAndrews case. Everything was ok, but it wasn't the same, Rachel realized. Whatever dam had held back her emotions and feelings for the duration of their friendship, had weathered one too many emotional storms. And, frankly, her life would suck without him.

**~*Suits*~**

Harvey Spector was not a caring man. No, he was a practical man who lived by the laws of logic, and counted on his charm, and Donna, to make sure his life was going exactly the way he wanted it, when he wanted it. Lately, that list had grown to include one Mike Ross; former pot-head, genius, lawyer, and _royal fucking idiot._ Harvey did not like the fact that he had come to like this kid who reminded him so much of himself, and had, _maybe_, just a little, come to depend on him. He especially did not like that fact when the mock trial proved that the kid could be undependable. Though Harvey did not like how soft-hearted Mike was, he had respected the kid's effort to not be tainted by delusions of grandeur or the exchange of money for injustice. He just didn't think it was practical.

Harvey was dreading having to go through another recruiting session, and thus didn't want Mike Ross to get burned by the facts of life and the profession he had chosen – but he couldn't shield him from everything. While Harvey believed that Mike would pull through when it really mattered, not continuing to hammer the pretty paralegal on the stand had exposed his soft underbelly to the vultures circling above. And though he would never admit it aloud, Harvey Spector knew without a doubt that Mike Ross was simply an extension of him, the son he never had. So, when Mike exposed his weakness, he exposed Harvey's weakness as well.

It was with these thoughts circling in his thoughts that Harvey Spector knew that _something_ had to give. He could get rid of the kid, cast him into the other pool of associates and let Louis take him under his wing or just fire him altogether – he shuddered at the prospect of such talent being wasted. He could forbid the kid from seeing the paralegal, as he had done with Trevor – but look how well that turned out last time, and Trevor didn't have long eyelashes and even longer legs. He could fire the paralegal – but she _was_ the most valuable one in the firm, and that would be a waste of talent too.

These thoughts plagued Harvey so much that when he arrived at work at seven a.m. the next morning, he barely even registered the fact that the McAndrews file was sitting on his desk. He debated on which to deal with first: the case, or Mike? Being a master at subconsciously avoiding awkward personal situations, he convinced himself that dealing with Mike would have to wait – the case was more important. So, when he opened the file, the last thing he expected was to instantly catch a scent of perfume, or see each and every page have something highlighted. Post-It's covered every square inch of the inside of the manila folder, some with prettily scrawled script, others with hurried chicken scratch. Every idea written on them was a good one, ones that Harvey could use to win this case.

It was after taking note of the differences in writing and catching another whiff of the perfume that Harvey felt himself relax. He set the folder back down on his desk and was making his way to Mike's cubicle when he found himself stopped and standing, casually obscured by a plant, a short distance away from the place in question. The pretty paralegal was perched on Mike's desk with her ankles delicately crossed, chatting with him, with a big smile on her face. Mike, for the first time in a long while, appeared well-rested and energetic – more like the Mike that Harvey remembered hiring. Harvey smirked, noting the casual way that Mike's eyes trailed from Rachel's slim ankles all the way up to where her thighs were obscured by the sharp pencil skirt she wore.

If they hadn't had sex yet, it wouldn't be long before they did. Harvey checked his watch and decided that, since Mike had shown up early and had done excellent work on the McAndrews case – with or without Rachel's help – it would be alright for him to get another ten minutes of solid flirting in before Harvey dropped the next case in his lap. Harvey's day immediately brightened, after seeing the two; he wouldn't need to do anything. Whatever needed to give way already had. Mike was back on his A-game.

As he walked back towards his office, Harvey made a mental note to forbid Mike from ever fighting with Rachel again – at least so long as they both worked at Pearson and Hardman.

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><p><strong>An: So…did Rachel and Mike **_**actually**_** do it? I'll let you be the judge of that. The first of hopefully many more to come, so cheers!**


End file.
